Glint and Slash
by Joker88
Summary: The Joker likes knives,and he's come to collect the last of a set that has taken him ten years to build. They shine in the light with fire and steel. He's never letting them go. They mean more than his own blood and definitely more than another's life.


_Well, another Joker one-shot, just because I can. I told you I could update quickly! Please Read and Review to tell me what you liked or loathed.  
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The Joker stood, admiring the Knives in the case. He was dressed as per his usual outfit, the purple suit and green vest. Behind him, in the shadows, a dark figure scowled over the transactions, ready to leap into action if any danger were to approach the clown. Holden knew what would happen if he made even the smallest, most harmless action. And his nose itched.

The knives were good knives. Even in a small concrete room with cruel lighting and even crueler company they glinted with an exciting deadliness. Only the best for his best customer. The man grinned, the Joker liked his knives, that was fine with the man, he liked knives as well. Liked them so much he carved their memory into his skin.

But he hadn't done that with these precious, gliding blades, no. These blades were part of a set of twenty, the completing pair. One hundred and twenty-five layers, the metal folded many many times, each piece carefully engraved with the customized trademark of the Joker.

And this was the result, two black handled blades, each crafted to be both terrifying and beautiful. Of course the man had made modern blades, switch blades folding blades, knives made to be concealed in boots and suits. But these two... He had considered just running away with the work. They were so beautiful, he felt like the artist in the old tale that his mother used to tell, the sculptor who fell in love with his own creation and with his love had breathed life into it.

But these were weapons, not made for life, but for death, perhaps even his own death was being reflected off those sharp sides. He cared not. These were his masterpieces, he had spent his whole life learning how to forge blades and this was the result, what he had spent all that work, all that time learning and making.

And now he was going to hand them over, it hurt, like a mother parting from her child. But he knew that he could never bring these blades what they wanted. He was a superstitious man, he believed in the souls of swords, had crafted them for a man he believed to have no soul. And they thirsted for blood, had yearned for the liquid that was life to soak into their metal.

And it would, the metal that he had used would soak up the red liquid, posses the blade. If touched by blood it would retain the reddish color, no matter how much it was scrubbed. Once a blade was tainted it would never again be the same. Like a soul, the master forger thought with satisfaction.

The Joker had been staring at them, his eyes glittering with the reflection of the razors edges. It was unthinkable, the things that would be done with those blades. He had prayed before he had come to this place, prayed for his soul so desperately he thought he might die and be taken up to heaven on the spot.

But he had come here with a heavy black spot on his heart. He knew that no matter how hard he prayed, no matter how much he repented, nothing could make up for what those blades would do.

"You always know how to treat a me." The Joker opened his purple coat to reveal the black and green holster that held the twenty knives, each sporting the cruel engraved joker dancing to a mute chaotic tune. There was a silken hissing sound as the knives slid into their assigned place. It had taken almost ten years to complete that set.

"For the last time too. Mista J."

The Joker's hands froze on the handles of the exquisite blades. "What does that mean, Holden? Are you exiting my services?"

"No, Mista' J. There's no more craft in these hands. Everything's been used up. If you be wanting a good solid blade then I'm your man. I can get you what you need, but my creating days are over."

The Joker stared hard at the man before him. "You're an easy man to trust, Holden."

"Thank you sir. Can't say the same for you, sir."

The Joker stared at the diminutive man for a full minute before speaking. "I like you Holden. You're a man I can count on. So how much is this going to cost? Wait, let me guess."

Holden stayed quiet. This was the tense part of the meetings. He was never quite sure what the man thought of his payment.

"An arm and a leg?" The Joker burst out laughing, his entire body shaking with the wracking coughs of laughter. Holden allowed himself a small smile. "That's funny sir."

The Joker was howling his laughter still, so Holden stayed silent, waiting for a chance to speak. The Jester wiped his dry eyes, smearing the oily make up and looked back up at Holden.

"You didn't make any requests for money this time."

"I felt it wouldn't be right. Those blades are going to do more than I can wash away with money or splendor. You know how I like my payment."

The Joker paced around the table, taking one of the new knives out as and holding it up to catch a glimmer if light, throwing a distorted line across his face. "Holden, I want you to meet my shiny, brand new body guard, Lou. Lou I want you to meet James Holden."

Holden squinted into the shadows. "He's a bit scrawny."

The Joker ignored him, turning the blade over and over in his hands.

"Now, Lou. Holden has this little quirk. Well, everyone has their little quirks, but I _like_ Holden's quirks. They make him unique."

Lou was shivering in the corner. Trying desperately to keep the fact that these two men were completely and utterly insane to himself. They gave him the creeps. Holden was scary, his eyes were bulging, fish-like and intense in their sockets. He looked more dead than alive.

And the Joker, his face twisted and contorting with the shadows. He looked more alien than human. He wanted out of this room. Out onto the streets of Gotham which he knew well enough to walk through blind.

"Holden doesn't ask for much money, usually just enough to buy him supplies, which I can understand." The Joker was approaching him now and the blade was nowhere to be seen. It's a lot more frightening to _not_ know where the blade was than watching it glitter in the light. Lou tried to black up, but there was nowhere to run to.

"Holden has quite the appetite you see."

Suddenly Lou wasn't so sure he was awake. This was far too dreamlike. Far too much like the nightmares that woke him up as a child, screaming to be heard. But he didn't wake, didn't feel the cooling touch of his mother's hand on his brow.

_ 'Cause it's real_

And then the Joker was right in front of him and he rocked and swayed in the glittering shadows. "I don't wanna be eaten."

It was the first thing that came to him mouth before the scream. And then he was banging on the rough concrete walls. Swinging at the Joker who, like a ghost seemed to slip through his blows, right up to his ear.

And then there was a sting at his side and darkness was swallowing him whole,

_No, I don't wanna be eaten_

He was too weak to struggle anymore.

And there was a mouth next to his ear. "You are what you eat they say. And boy, you've been eating food."

The Joker stepped away from his shiny new body guard, the limp flesh sliding to the grimy floor with a dull, wet sound. A final sound.

Holden looked with distaste at the body. "Did you have to do that here?"

The Joker looked up with widened, crazed eyes. "I thought you liked it fresh."

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_Do I hear one review? One review ladies and gentlemen? To Revie- Three Reviews! Whait, I see Four-Five-Six Reviews Ladies and gentlemen! Any more offers?....Please?_


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